


(Gloria) In Excelsis Deo

by brodinsons (aeon_entwined)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (an alternate retelling of season five if you will), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3093947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/brodinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester is going to stop the Apocalypse, whatever the cost. As per usual when Winchesters are involved, things don't go quite according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Gloria) In Excelsis Deo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Capsherlocked (Labracadabrador)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Labracadabrador/gifts).



> Written for the [FYSL Fanwork Exchange 2014](http://fuckyeahsamlucifer.tumblr.com/fanworkexchange) using the prompt: "Resurrection".

This isn’t exactly how he’d imagined the Apocalypse would go.

The dreams were one thing. Night after night spent in this strange motel room that wasn’t really a motel room but some odd combination of a master suite and a tiny little cottage off in the remote parts of a forest, arguing that he’ll never say ‘yes’ and that humanity doesn’t deserve to be burned off the face of the planet.

The devil would listen; in that detached, patient way he has that makes you realize just how insignificant you really are in the grand scheme of things. And the cycle would start again every night. Sam finally lost it at him after one of the worse days when all he wanted was actual rest, not this facsimile subconscious existence with the devil dreamwalking in his head.

Lucifer had been surprised by the outburst, and even more so by Sam’s claims of being tortured by sleep deprivation. Lucifer investigated, and his findings resulted in Sam’s first experience with seeing the devil visibly enraged. Whether it was his own fault or yet another shortcoming of humanity as a whole, Sam wasn’t sure. All he knew was Lucifer’s fingertips had brushed across his forehead and he woke up the next morning feeling more rested than he had in a good six months.

And that was the turning of the tide, as they say.

The dreams persisted but Lucifer figured out a way to circumvent the pesky human need for sleep, and Sam reluctantly found himself demanding answers from the devil instead of ranting at him for hours on end.

Lucifer always obliged, and whenever Sam asked why, all he’d get as an answer was a tiny little smile. The smile always made Lucifer look sad for some reason, and his determination to figure out why eventually led them to this point.

 _This point_ being sat at the table in a run-of-the-mill roadside motel with his laptop open in front of him and the devil perched in the chair opposite while Dean methodically cleans his guns on the bed across the room and absolutely doesn’t cut suspicious looks at Lucifer every five minutes.

Lucifer asked him again and again what he wanted, and in the end Sam told him: to stop the Apocalypse and save the world.

Neither is very easily done, as he figured from the beginning, but Lucifer had given him another one of those inscrutably sad smiles and agreed. Just like that. No hidden trapdoors or requirements that he say ‘yes’ at the end of it. Nothing but a fallen angel’s word and Sam’s desperate hope that he hadn’t screwed everything up even worse than before.

Months later and there’s still no indication that his last-ditch gamble with everything he had fucked humanity over completely. Lucifer is watching him curiously from across the table, as he is wont to do whenever there’s research to be done on the laptop. 

Apparently, the internet ranks as one of the most fascinating elements of humanity for the devil.

Sam finishes bookmarking a few pages on harpies and cleaning up his notes on their latest case to track Gabriel down again (since the whole finding the Horsemen’s’ rings to punt the devil back downstairs idea is on hold for the moment), then opens the browser to Lucifer’s Wikipedia page and carefully turns the laptop around to face the angel.

Lucifer cocks his head at it in a way that’s so similar to Cas that Sam almost laughs, then reaches out to grasp the computer and pull it closer. His odd habit of literally perching on chairs (usually with the chair back up against his chest so he can fold his arms across the top of it) makes it something of an interesting maneuver to achieve, but he manages. 

Dean’s paused in the middle of his self-appointed project and is currently eyeing the devil with a mixture of wariness and outright curiosity. Like he can’t quite believe Satan is getting entertainment out of googling himself.

To be fair, Sam is just starting to adjust to Lucifer’s quirks, and this is by far one of the really minor ones. For being _the angel_ who loathes humanity, he’s the most human of every single one Sam can ever remember meeting. He’s relaxed in his borrowed skin in a way none of the others are, not even Cas. Sam chanced a moral crisis and asked who exactly Lucifer is wearing a few weeks back.

Lucifer had explained that the man’s name was Nick. When Sam demanded clarification for the very intentional _was_ , Lucifer simply looked at him and said, “He was suicidal. He consented to vesselhood as an escape from remaining alive any longer and when your brother shot him through the brain, I burnt him out. As opposed to leaving him a rotting shell if I tried to restore him while burning through so much energy in the process.”

It’s not good, but it’s not precisely bad either. Sam finds himself startled by just how many grey areas there are when you start having theological debates with the devil. 

Lucifer is still burning through a lot of energy from day to day. It shows on his vessel. There are little burns and sores marring his temples, hands and throat; the places where his Grace is closest to the surface, as Sam learned through some careful questioning.

He burns cold in ways that human brains can’t really process and it takes a considerable amount of his power just to hold this vessel together without the thin places burning apart entirely. Sam touches him without thinking sometimes, and without fail, he’s always shocked by just _how_ cold Lucifer is. It’s like touching a living statue, like brushing your fingers against steel on a frigid winter morning.

It’s even more startling when Lucifer purposefully softens under his occasional touches. There’s a difference, he says, between existing as an angel simply wrapped in a human shell and an angel consciously making the effort to join with the flesh it wears. Sam isn’t sure which one he prefers. The latter almost makes Lucifer feel vulnerable to him, and he’s starting to dislike the idea of anything about the archangel being vulnerable. 

He’s the one who’s helping them fight Heaven and Hell alike, despite the foretold plans for them all, and Sam’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

There’s gotta be a catch somewhere. If Lucifer won’t come collecting, then someone else will. That’s how he’s lived his entire life. The moment something good happens, something awful follows right on its heels to remind him that he can’t take anything for granted and probably shouldn’t accept anyone’s graciously offered assistance since they’ll be coming for his soul the next week.

“Alright, that’s enough internet for today,” Sam comes back from putting his go-bag together and delicately extracts his laptop from Lucifer’s grasp. The archangel gives him a mildly put out look, but he doesn’t resist. “I’m going for food. Who wants some?”

Dean gives a noncommittal grunt from the other side of the room, which probably translates to “no, but if you see pie and you don’t get any, I’m committing murder”. Sam raises his eyebrows at Lucifer, who smiles at him, then rises to his feet with the fluidity of someone who isn’t quite human.

“I would like to accompany you, Sam,” he says, in that low rumble of a voice that Sam’s slowly becoming accustomed to.

And that’s how he ends up wandering down what passes for a highway in this town towards one of the local fast food joints with the devil for company. 

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

Lucifer’s gaze slides towards him, those inhumanly blue eyes seeming to see right through him. “You asked it of me. I know it’s a difficult thing for you to comprehend, but I have been nothing but honest with you from the start, Sam. You deserve everything this world could possibly offer you. You asked for me to lay down my arms and join you on this harebrained scheme. And so, I have held true to my word.”

Sam shoves his hands further into his pockets and keeps walking, brow furrowed while his gaze bores holes in the pavement under their feet.

“You are the single most perfect thing my Father ever had a hand in creating,” Lucifer continues, apparently unperturbed by Sam’s silence. “Everything else … is flawed. You are the beacon that led me out of Hell and I’ve orbited you ever since. I intend to protect you to the best of my ability, and if that means making certain sacrifices in terms of my own plans…then so be it.”

At that, Sam raises an eyebrow and glances over. Lucifer’s expression is almost thunderous, and while Sam has never experienced the archangel’s anger directed at him, he doesn’t envy anyone who crosses Lucifer when he’s in a mood. “Keep talking like that and I’m going to start calling you a guardian angel,” Sam quips lightly.

Lucifer smiles at him like he’s said something unequivocally brilliant, and reaches over to brush chilled fingers down Sam’s plaid-clad forearm. “I would be very pleased if you thought such a thing about me.”

Sam focuses his gaze on the road ahead and decides that it’ll be prudent to remember Lucifer can do all sorts of angel tricks, like teleporting and _reading his damn mind_.

**i.**

They probably should’ve been a little more aware of their surroundings when they checked into the damn hotel, but it’s too late for that now. By a helluva long shot.

Being on the road for this long and trying to outrun a storm cell was the perfect combination to get their guard down just enough to sneak all the obvious signs right past them. Now they’re hunkered down in Dean’s room, waiting for Gabriel to get back from Kali’s with their blood. 

Sam hasn’t allowed Lucifer to tamper with the sigils Cas had burned into his ribs, so the archangel still has difficulty pinpointing his location unless Sam explicitly tells him where they’re planning to be before he takes off to do whatever it is devils need to be doing when they aren’t actively trying to feed the Apocalypse. So, even with Gabriel around (which was an odd turn of events in and of itself), they’re not exactly sitting pretty.

They’re sitting even less pretty when Gabriel finally turns up and gives them the bad news they were hoping they wouldn’t have to hear. 

“Why can’t you just talk to him? Can’t archangels talk to each other with the angel radio stuff?”

Gabriel gives Sam a distinctly unimpressed look. “We’re a bit _above_ angel radio stuff, kiddo. And considering big bro would probably take a swipe at me with his sword as soon as look at me, I’m not too fond of the whole phone home deal.”  
There’s a lot more grumbling between the trio as they try to formulate a plan, but once Gabriel dies at Kali’s hand, shit starts getting really real.

While they’re trying to get all the hotel staff to safety and Dean uncovers Gabriel’s timely ruse, Sam can’t help thinking to himself: what would happen if I prayed to Lucifer?

Turns out, nothing gruesome happens, but when he scrunches his eyes shut in anticipation of an explosion, all he gets is a distant rumble of thunder, followed by the familiar rustle of angel wings. Lucifer is standing in front of him, in all his faded jeans and loose t-shirt glory, with an indecipherable look on his face. 

“You prayed to me.”

Sam glances over his shoulder to make sure Dean’s nowhere in the near vicinity, then turns back to Lucifer. “Yeah, I did. These guys are about to eat us if things don’t go their way so I figured it’d be worth a shot to try and talk things over with you before everybody died- hey, _wait_!”

He races back into the hotel when Lucifer disappears with another crack of thunder. Dean’s still in the conference room with Gabriel, and Sam bursts through one of the side doors from the kitchen just as Lucifer strides through the main doors, splattered in the blood of gods and looking every inch the king of Hell legend paints him as. The temperature of the room drops exponentially as he enters the room, leaving the air weighted with something that tastes like the raw energy coalescing in the sky before a lightning strike. Sam’s eyes widen, and Lucifer pauses when his gaze lands on Sam’s face.

Gabriel’s standing frozen in place with one arm in front of Kali and Balder, and one hand gripping Dean’s shoulder. Dean doesn’t exactly look surprised, but he looks like he’d rather be anywhere than here. 

For a moment that stretches on way too long, no one moves. 

“Lucifer, please….”

The archangel’s gaze doesn’t waver from his face, and Sam feels like the fate of humanity is hanging in the balance again if he so much as blinks. 

He’s seen the kinds of things Cas and his siblings are capable of firsthand, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to see what any of the first four can do if something really pisses them off. Gabriel’s vicious enough with his flighty temper and the glee he takes in dealing out his “just desserts”, and he’s been absent from Heaven for centuries. Sam figures there’s a reason he referred to Lucifer as his big brother when they finally caught him in that barn. And if they’re anything alike, Lucifer’s temper is probably worse. 

Finally, the frigid temperature of the room eases, and Lucifer crosses the space between them to take Sam’s face in his hands, turning him from side to side as if examining him for injuries or signs of foul play. Sam allows the manhandling, startled all over again by the worsening burns and sliced open skin over Lucifer’s temples and cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” is all he says, then turns and crosses the room to where Gabriel and his pagan deity friends are still standing. 

Sam thinks to shout a warning, but there’s no apparent malice in Lucifer’s body language, so he simply watches as the archangel pauses beside his brother. He thinks he catches something that sounds like _watch yourself, little brother … next time your playmates get out of hand, I will not be so generous_. 

Then, he’s gone. A crack of thunder that Sam briefly imagines to be the true sound of Lucifer’s wings, followed by empty space where he once stood. 

The tension in the room doesn’t exactly dissipate, but Gabriel manages to get the blood binding issue sorted out with Kali, and Sam finds himself in the Impala’s passenger seat much faster than he’d anticipated. He glances sideways at Dean, who seems to be doing everything in his power to ignore any possible opening for discussion and pretend that everything is just hunky dory. 

Soon enough, there’s a lighter rustle of feathers, and in the span of one second to the next, there’s a trench coat-wearing angel in the back seat. Sam will admit that the barely perceptible twitch of Dean’s hands on the wheel is a pretty good indicator of how desensitized they’ve both become to angels appearing and disappearing at random in their near vicinity.

“Dude, just … don’t ask. Please, don’t ask,” Dean says to the rearview mirror when Cas starts to open his mouth.

The angel closes his mouth in what might pass as obedience to a casual observer, but Sam can see the judgmental look he aims at Dean the entire drive to the next down (and hopefully, the next motel that won’t involve them being eaten alive by angry pagan gods). He’s actually really good at the portending-your-imminent-doom judgmental look that somehow guilt trips you into spilling whatever secret you’d been trying to hold onto. To this day, Sam isn’t quite sure if it’s not part of his set of neat angel tricks.

When they finally find a place at ass o’clock in the morning, Sam doesn’t particularly care how haunted it is, so long as there’s a roof over his head and a bed to sleep on. He keeps an eye on Dean and Cas until they disappear into their own room, then toddles into the one a few doors down that they managed to snag even with the place almost booked solid. He closes the door, flips all the locks, then turns around and promptly walks straight into an immovable wall. 

“What the f-“ Sam stumbles, dropping his bag as he catches himself on the door behind him with a hand.

Lucifer is standing there; tall, somehow regal even in the forgettable clothes he wears, and _angry_.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be able to find me.”

Lucifer frowns at him, and his expression makes Sam feel like he’s looking _through_ him. He suppresses the urge to fold his arms in front of himself like some flimsy little human shield.

“I may not be able to find you or your brother, thanks to the little watcher’s sigils, but he is not hidden from me,” Lucifer answers crisply, voice low and laced with just a hint of danger in the dark of the unlit room. “I agreed to leaving them untouched because I wanted you to trust me, as least to a small degree. I’ve left you to your own devices for the most part because I understand how uneasy my presence makes you, even now. I don’t think you have any idea how difficult these things are for me, Sam.”

Sam watches him carefully, then moves past him to sit on the edge of the single bed. With his center of gravity a little more stable, Sam lifts his head up and gives Lucifer a small _continue_ nod of his head.

“We are two halves of a united whole. Made for each other in every sense of the phrase. I’ve told you this before, Sam, but I cannot emphasize how true it is. My Grace was created to fit within your soul. And you were created with just the right amount of empty space inside you so that I could fill it.”

Sam glances away for a moment, discomfited by how that amorphous absence somewhere in him that’s existed since as long as he can remember gives a sort of pulse of recognition at Lucifer’s words. It doesn’t change anything, because he said no, and he has no intention of letting Lucifer convince him into changing his mind. Still, the fact that Lucifer’s words ring true with parts of him he doesn’t even know how to acknowledge…

“Sam, this isn’t an attempt to sway your decision. I’m merely trying to explain myself so you can understand perhaps a fraction of why I am doing this.”

He startles, before remembering that Lucifer has probably been inside his head from the moment he locked the door to the room.

“I have found it difficult to understand why you continue throwing yourself at these creatures and demons with such frequency. Why you insist on tearing yourself apart day by day. Learning your line of work is … frustrating. And, much as I hate to admit it, it’s outside of my control. So, I have come to the realization that I will not sit idly by while you continue with this nonsensical destructive pattern.”

Sam frowns at him for a moment, but doesn’t interrupt.

“I told you once that I intend to protect you, and I will uphold that promise. I will piece you back together every day that you see fit to tear yourself apart, and I will do so at my discretion. You are frustratingly human, frustratingly _fragile_ , and while I cannot dispute those facts, I can wage war against them in my own way.”

He inhales sharply at the look of almost primal anger etched on Lucifer’s face, and wonders at just how tightly controlled the archangel keeps himself in moments like this. Lucifer could probably be destroying cities with all that leashed rage, but there’s no sign of the internal battle save for the darkness in his expression.

“I will protect you because you deserve that and everything I can possibly give you,” Lucifer gaze snaps to his, and pins him in place. “Everything you will take from me without fear of being manipulated for it.”

Without really thinking the consequences of doing so through, Sam reaches out, shivering fingertips stretching towards all the contained power and righteous anger that’s terrified and awed him since he first broke the final seal on Lucifer’s cage.

Lucifer watches him for a brief moment, then begins doing something Sam had never even imagined. Not in his wildest dreams. 

The archangel forces one of his vessel’s knees to bend, then the other, bringing him almost level with Sam’s line of sight. His back is ramrod straight; stiff with an underlying tension that speaks to the difficulty of an inherently proud creature being asked to kneel for someone so much lesser than itself. But Sam never asked for this. He never even _thought_ it. His hand shakes a little more, but his fingertips eventually make contact with Lucifer’s cheek, sliding over the ever-present stubble and burns etched into the borrowed skin.

Lucifer tips his head just slightly, and Sam’s holding Lucifer’s cheek in his palm. He exhales harshly, unable to look away, then sweeps the pad of his thumb over the sharp line of Lucifer’s cheekbone.

There’s an inexorable sort of pull tugging him forward onto the edge of the bed, and between one moment and the next, Sam’s kissing an angel.

They overbalance a bit, and even though the still-rationally-functioning areas of Sam’s brain know that Lucifer would be able to support his weight and a thousand times more of it, he goes oddly soft and pliant under the unexpected change in positions. Sam ends up kneeling astride Lucifer’s lap, one hand in the archangel’s dirty blond hair and the other still cupping his cheek. They kiss like they’re drawing oxygen directly from each other’s lungs, and Sam can’t remember the last time he was kissed like this.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against Lucifer’s, panting lightly. Part of him feels a little miffed that Lucifer isn’t panting, but angels don’t need to breathe like this. They don’t even need to have a heartbeat. But he can feel a pulse throbbing gently against the side of his hand cupped under Lucifer’s jaw, and something tells him Lucifer is doing that for him. _Because_ of him.

“Of course I am, Sam,” Lucifer murmurs, searching out his eyes even with everything blurry and too close.

“Tell me I’m going crazy,” Sam whispers harshly, diving back in to give himself stubble burn and to Hell with any of Dean’s snide comments about it in the morning. “Tell me this is a bad idea.”

Lucifer makes what Sam might call a distantly amused sound against his mouth, but one impossibly strong hand has wound itself into his hair and is holding him still so the archangel can thoroughly investigate the inside of his mouth. He feels a little overwhelmed when Lucifer finally lets him up for air.

“Your mind is perfectly sound, and this is only as bad of an idea as you allow it to be,” Lucifer smoothes his fingers curiously through Sam’s hair, like he’s not quite sure if he’s doing this right, and Sam wonders just how long he’s been falling without even realizing it. 

Silence reigns for a minute or two, and Sam can’t help being grateful that Lucifer isn’t probing around his head while he’s having a few internal crises. 

“Happy endings aren’t real,” he says, carefully putting it out there so Lucifer doesn’t get offended. “Happy endings are for the people in movies who keep screwing up but somehow get to walk off into the sunset together. I already got the earth. You promised you wouldn’t kill everybody. That’s as much as I can ask for. Anything else … anything else and I’m just asking for everything to come crashing down. That’s how it’s always been.”

Lucifer stares at him, and Sam wonders if it always feels like you’re being peeled away layer by layer until your soul is the only thing left when you get stared at like that by an angel. 

“I want to give you everything, Sam,” Lucifer says quietly. “I told you at the start. And if we aren’t to be united in the way I believed we were supposed to be, then perhaps you will show me this way instead.”

Fighting against a constricting tightness in his throat, Sam grabs Lucifer again and kisses him as soundly as he knows how. 

They fall backwards onto the floor with Sam on top, and he tries to get his hands everywhere at once. Lucifer’s remain in his hair for the moment, but he drags his own under that disconcertingly normal t-shirt and across skin that’s chilled to the touch. It should probably be a warning sign, but Sam couldn’t care less. He wants it all. He wants everything.

He thrusts his hips between Lucifer’s legs, earning a low growl and fingers tightening in his hair for his efforts. So he does it again. And again. He keeps doing it until he’s got some messy semblance of a rhythm going, and maybe they should take the time to get their jeans off or something like that but he just _needs_. 

And Lucifer isn’t passive about it at all. He wraps his legs around the backs of Sam’s and gives as good as he gets; learning physical cues from Sam’s movements and inferring what Sam likes from how he responds to where Lucifer puts his hands.

They buck and writhe against each other, mouths clashing at odd angles and they grapple with each other’s shirts and try to lay claim to as much bare skin as possible. Sam drags his nails down either side of Lucifer’s spine and the archangel bucks up almost hard enough to flip them over.

He laughs breathlessly, more turned on than he’s been in years and completely _enthralled_ with the idea that he’s able to affect this impossible cosmic entity as much as he’s being driven past the point of coherency.

“How much can you feel?” he growls against the archangel’s ear, groaning as he thrusts down and feels Lucifer’s answering hardness pressing up against him through two layers of denim.

Lucifer grips his flank in one hand and the back of his neck with the other, somehow not using an ounce more strength than necessary. “All of it,” he bares his teeth, then throws his head back onto the carpet as Sam thrusts against him again. “I feel everything.”

Sam isn’t sure if the idea that they’re here together, equals somehow in spite of everything Sam knows, is what sends him over the edge, or if it’s the mind-bending visual of Lucifer writhing underneath him, completely lost to the physicality of something so human. 

Maybe it’s a bit of both.

He throws back his head and comes with a pretty unsexy groan, both hands digging hard into Lucifer’s shoulders. The last part of his brain to go as orgasm whites everything out for a second can’t help wondering what it would take for him to leave bruises the next time.

As he comes back to full awareness, he sees Lucifer’s expression freeze in abject shock. Then, like watching a tidal wave, the archangel’s entire body _shudders_ from his head to his feet, leaving him gasping for air he doesn’t need.

Sam touches Lucifer’s face, and Lucifer reaches up to grasp his wrist, holding his hand there so Lucifer can kiss the center of his palm over and over. The lips on his skin are cool; an interesting contrast to the overheated mess of the rest of his body.

“Thank you,” Lucifer murmurs against the skin, his voice a low rumble that’s still a touch breathless. 

“For what?” Sam cocks his head, settling his weight down onto Lucifer and propping his chin on the archangel’s chest. 

“For sharing this with me,” Lucifer gives his palm a final kiss, then laces their fingers together like a promise. “For sharing everything with me.”

**ii.**

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, as the saying goes.

Sam learned that the hard way with Ruby. So, the idea of falling down this whole new slippery slope that’s ended in the arms of the devil himself should send him running in the opposite direction.

“Only you, Sam,” Dean said the day after Lucifer’s first night in Sam’s room. “Only you could try to save the world and end up seducing the devil into your bed to do it.”

That wasn’t the first thing he’d said, thought. There’d been a lot of swearing and shouting leading up to it. Suffice to say Dean doesn’t trust his judgment further than he can throw it, but nobody’s dying and the Apocalypse is losing steam on all fronts, so Sam feels pretty entitled to ignoring the sidelong looks angled at him whenever they’re out eating together. 

He might not have any idea what he’s doing even now, but he knows whatever it is, it’s right. He feels it every time Lucifer leans his weight into him in a crinkly leather booth at an old diner or when the archangel brushes feather-light fingertips over the back of his hand as they walk from their motel room of the week to the Impala.

That’s another new development. Dean isn’t happy at all about Satan being allowed to ride in his baby’s back seat, but when Sam made it very clear that the compromise would be made or they’d be doing some separate investigations for a while, Dean grudgingly relented. On the condition that any remotely demonic activity in the vicinity of the back seat resulted in Satan being promptly ejected from said back seat.

Cas seems to be enjoying the change in routine well enough. Whenever Sam glances over his shoulder when they’re on the road, he usually finds the angel staring at Lucifer, who’s staring back. They’re probably having some Super Serious Angel Discussions, because he’s caught quite a few headtilts in the course of all the staring too. He’s never asked about it, but it’s definitely a familial thing. All the angels do it to some degree. Like they’re looking at something and trying to make sense of it through these weird little mortal eyes that make everything look all small and annoying to them.

Sam’s never asked Cas about the deteriorating state of Lucifer’s vessel, which seems to worsen by increments every day. He assumes Cas can see a lot more than he can, but he’s not brave enough to ask. 

Or maybe he’s nowhere near ready to square off with the reality that Lucifer’s time on earth is counting down and they may not be able to find a way to fix it in time.

He hasn’t brought it up with Dean, since he knows he’s not going to be getting any sympathy from that corner, but Lucifer said they had months. Maybe more, if luck was on their side. So they have time. And they’ll figure out a way to keep putting off the inevitable. Hopefully indefinitely. Sam knows Winchester stubbornness better than just about anybody, and he’s not going to rest until they’ve tried everything.

Lucifer taps him on the shoulder one afternoon as they’re driving, and politely but firmly requests that they pull off onto the shoulder of a pretty deserted flat stretch of highway.

Dean flat out refuses to leave the car, and Cas stays with him, but Sam climbs out of the passenger’s seat and stands at the edge of the swaying grass as he watches Lucifer traipse silently across the wide expanse of grassland.

It’s an interesting little quirk he’s noticed: Lucifer can move around almost silently on his feet if he wants to, but more often than not, he’ll make sure that the heavy tread of those borrowed work boots alerts human and angel alike to his presence as he approaches. 

That’s when Sam notices that they aren’t alone out here.

Lucifer’s steps slow and he gradually approaches a familiar figure that’s considerably shorter than him. Sam isn’t sure if he’s ever seen the trickster smile without hints of that cruel mind sharpening his moderately attractive features, but Gabriel the archangel smiles and it’s like accidentally glancing at the sun directly overhead. 

They’re strangely beautiful together, Sam decides, watching the two celestial entities as they embrace for what he imagines is the first time in eons. Gabriel’s hands fist in the back of Lucifer’s shirt for a moment before he withdraws, offering another quicksilver smile as he does. 

The archangels converse silently for some time out in the nameless field, and Sam finds he’s in no rush to get anywhere just yet. He glances over his shoulder one time and spots Cas staring off at his siblings with something close to a blissful expression on his face. Having a bit of his family together instead of at each other’s throats probably wasn’t something he was expecting to see. Sam wonders what the archangels look like to him.

They seem to finish up with some muttered words in a language Sam can’t understand, though he imagines he wouldn’t be far off if he guessed it to be Enochian filtered through human vocal cords. Gabriel grips his older brother’s shoulders and they touch their foreheads together before turning and separating for good. 

Gabriel waits until Lucifer is almost back to the highway before he disappears with a distant crack of thunder and Sam can’t help the smile that twitches at the corner of his mouth as Lucifer approaches. 

“You guys sure like your dramatic entrances and exits, don’t you?” 

Lucifer smirks, stepping close enough to put himself neatly in Sam’s space. “No more so than you and your brother’s penchant for kicking down doors,” he leans in and presses a surprisingly chaste kiss to Sam’s lips.

Sam outright laughs at that, giving Lucifer’s hip a brief squeeze as he turns to get back into the car. Gabriel might not’ve been able to offer any help with the vessel issue, but seeing him was good for Lucifer. Sam can tell. The archangel’s posture is looser than before, like he’s carrying less weight across his shoulders.

“Touché, smartass,” Sam shakes his head, then folds his lanky frame back into the passenger’s seat as Dean grumbles something about not being able to find any diners open by the time they hit the next town. “Touché.”

Lucifer rumbles something amused and suspiciously content in the back seat, and Sam’s vaguely surprised to hear Cas make a noise of agreement in response to it. Dean probably isn’t going to be too happy about his angel making nice with the devil before he could. Probably.

**iii.**

Sam wakes up in the dark for no particular reason. The motel they’ve crashed at for a week isn’t anything noteworthy. Dean and Cas are next door, with the former probably passed out and the latter probably either watching him in that creepily endearing angel way or trying out sleep for himself. Then, when Sam reaches a hand out across the sheets, he realizes why he’s awake: the other half of the bed is empty.

After a month of sharing shitty motel beds with an archangel, he’d started getting used to it. Even to the point of rousing if Lucifer either moved around or got out of bed entirely. Sleeping light is one of the tools of the trade. Can’t let your guard down too much when anything could come busting through the door or the windows.

A brief survey of the room yields no answers, since the archangel is nowhere to be found.

Unsettled, Sam slips out from beneath the covers, pulls on a pair of pants and a shirt, grabs his boots and a knife (just in case), and heads outside. There’s just enough light peeking over the horizon to bathe everything in this surreal sort of ambiance that wouldn’t look out of place in Middle-Earth. He blinks a few times, adjusting to his surroundings, then comes to a halt when he sees Lucifer.

The archangel stands vaguely in the center of the field just behind the motel, surrounded by trees and the sort of nature that’s hard to come by anywhere but the pacific northwest. He’s just standing there, not moving, not doing much of anything.

Then, he seems to sense Sam, and his shoulders go rigid. 

“Go back inside, Sam.”

“Why?”

His retort comes almost instantly, because something is wrong. Very, very wrong. 

“I don’t want you to see this.”

Sam forces himself to move forward, in spite of the sudden pressure he can feel against every inch of his body; Lucifer’s will keeping him at a safe distance from something he doesn’t even understand.

“Sam.”

“What’s going on? Why won’t you tell me?”

Lucifer exhales a sound like tectonic plates shifting together. The edges of his body shimmer oddly in the weak light filtering across the field, and Sam can almost swear he sees flames licking along the lines of Lucifer’s shoulders.

“I thought I would have more time. I was wrong.”

Sam pushes harder against the invisible force that only pushes back even harder, preventing him from moving. His heart is pounding in his throat; mind racing as he remembers their discussions over the speed that Lucifer is burning through his vessel. He just didn’t think …

“I’m .. sorry, Sam. More sorry than you know.”

In a brief moment of calm clarity, Sam wonders if Lucifer has ever said those words to anyone before. They sound rusty and awkward in his mouth.

“You can’t do this. You _can’t_.”

Lucifer turns slightly, and Sam can just see his profile. He’s literally burning; flames licking his borrowed skin as his eyes take on an otherworldly sort of glow. 

“We’ve broken all the rules at our disposal, I think. I would break more if I could, Sam. You know I would.”

His voice resonates strangely and Sam lifts a hand to cover one of his ears, wincing at the piercing wail that’s woven through the vocal register of his vessel. 

“Please…”

Lucifer spreads burning arms and lifts his head to the sky. There’s irony in the pose, if his Father were actually around to witness it. There’s another ear-piercing whine as his vessel continues to break down, and it rises to a deafening pitch as light starts to pierce through the disintegrating fractures.

“No!”

Sam lunges forward, then flings his hands over his face as Lucifer’s grace explodes outwards, sending him tumbling backwards onto the grass. When his ears stop ringing, Sam pushes himself up onto his elbows, looking around at the charred earth, splintered trees and burnt grass in horrified shock. The shield Lucifer had placed around him kept him safe from the concussive shockwave, but it’s gone, along with every trace of the archangel.

He stumbles to the center of the clearing, searching desperately for any sign of burnt-out wings, then falling to his knees in the blackest cinders at the center of the devastation when he comes up empty-handed. 

The charred ground should burn his hands, but even when he lifts them to stare at his palms, there’s nothing. Nothing about Lucifer can harm him. Ever. He only learned it too late.

Sam covers his face with both hands, sobbing hysterically as he tries to understand what went wrong. He thought they had time. He thought they’d find a loophole. He _hoped_ , for the first time in a long time. There had been a chance at happiness, with the most unlikely thing in the universe, granted, but there had still been a chance. And it was snatched right out of his fingers the minute he thought they were home free. 

Story of his life, from start to finish.

He digs his fingers into the blackened dirt under his knees, wailing all his hurt into an empty sky that offers nothing in return. Eventually, Sam cries himself out, and he just curls around the epicenter of Lucifer’s last moments on earth. There’s a strange comfort in the nearness, even if the angel himself isn’t there. Sam closes his eyes and tries to focus on the texture of the dirt under his hand, tries to imagine what Lucifer would say about it, how he would pick apart the various types of soil that comprise it and all the little creatures that live in it.

A little splash of water on his cheek rouses him an indeterminate amount of time later, and Sam cracks an eye open to see storm clouds roiling overhead.

There’s no aggression to the storm, no flashes of lighting or cracks of thunder, just the gentle fall of cool rain. He closes his eyes again and just lets it roll over him. It’s soothing, in a way he hasn’t expected from Mother Nature before, almost as though she’s consoling him for his loss. 

He curls a little tighter into himself, not caring as the rain eventually soaks him through to the skin. It’s not cold, not uncomfortably so, at least. Dean will probably get worried about him if he doesn’t turn up soon, but he can’t summon the energy to move. Not yet.

Somewhere behind him, there’s a flash of light, followed by a crack of thunder, and Sam winces instinctively, bracing for the aftershocks. But there’s nothing. 

Eventually, when the lack of successive thunder or lightning stirs his investigative instincts, Sam pushes himself up and glances behind him. What he sees stops the breath in his throat.

Lucifer stands at the entrance to the field, looking as whole and hale as he only ever did in the first dreams Sam ever remembers having. His face is unmarred by the burns and sliced open skin from all that grace burning up inside him, and his eyes are brighter than Sam’s ever seen them. The rain falls around him like a protective curtain, and Sam wonders if he’s staying dry thanks to invisible wings arching high over his head or by sheer angelic willpower alone. 

“Are you real?” he whispers, voice cracking on the last word.

The archangel begins moving towards him, and he can make out the heavy _thud_ of those work boots on the hard packed ground. He _sounds_ real. Sam dares to hope, even as his heart aches in his chest.

“It seems you weren’t done breaking the rules after all, Sam Winchester,” Lucifer murmurs, kneeling down and reaching out to touch Sam like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

And maybe, for the first time, Sam can believe he is.


End file.
